One Step Behind

He finally picked the couple getting married on Saturday, 17 August, at their home just outside Köpingebro. They had invited a lot of people. He couldn't even remember how many invitations they had given him. But both of them had been standing there when he came in through the door, and their happiness seemed limitless. He could have killed them on the spot. But as usual he controlled himself. He congratulated them, and no one could have guessed what he was really thinking.

It was the most important art a person could learn: self-control.

On Friday morning, Wallander began the task of mapping out Svedberg's life in earnest. He arrived at the station shortly after 7 a.m. and went about his task with some reluctance. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but somewhere in Svedberg's life there had to be a point leading to the reason for his murder. It was like trying to find a trace of life in a person who had already died.

What interested him most this morning was a man called Jan Söderblom, who Ylva Brink said knew Svedberg when he was young, during his days of compulsory military service and police training. The co

"Things are happening," Nyberg said and waved some faxes at him. "We can start with the murder weapons, if you like. Turns out the revolver stolen in Ludvika along with the shotgun could have been the same as the one in the nature reserve."

"Could have been?"

"In my language that means it's the one."

"Good," Wallander said. "We needed that."

"Then there are the fingerprints," Nyberg continued. "We found a good right thumbprint on the shotgun. We found another good thumbprint on a wineglass out in the reserve."

"Same thumb?"

"Yes."

"Previous record?"

"Not in our files. But we're going to send that thumbprint all around the world if we have to."

"So it is the same man," Wallander said slowly. "At least we know that much."

"There were no fingerprints on the telescope, however, other than Svedberg's own."

"Does that mean he hid it at Björklund's place himself?"

"Not necessarily. The person could have been wearing gloves."

"We have this thumbprint on the shotgun," Wallander said. "But what about in Svedberg's flat in general? We have to know who created that chaos, if it was Svedberg or someone else. Or both."

"We'll have to wait on that, but they're working on it."

Wallander got up and leaned against the wall. He felt that there was more to this.

"We found none of Svedberg's prints on the shotgun," Nyberg said. "That may or may not mean anything."

"We've come a long way," Wallander said. "We have a single killer."

"Maybe we should notify the chief prosecutor," Nyberg said, smiling. "That might cheer him up."

"Or not. We're not living up to our bad reputation. But we'll make sure he gets his report."

Nyberg left the room and Wallander grabbed the phone, called Malmö and asked to speak to Officer Jan Söderblom. Sure enough there was a detective by that name who worked mainly on theft cases, but he was on holiday on a Greek island until the following Wednesday. Wallander left a message that he wanted to speak to him as soon as possible. He also made a note of Söderblom's home phone number. He had just hung up when Höglund knocked on the half-open door. She held his speech about Svedberg in her hands.

"I've read it," she said. "And I think it's honest and moving. I suppose those two things always go together. No one's touched simply by empty talk of eternity and light conquering the darkness."

"It's not too long?" Wallander asked anxiously.

"I read it aloud to myself and it took less than five minutes. I don't usually speak at funerals, but I think it's just the right length."

She was about to slip out again when Wallander told her Nyberg's news.

"That's a huge step forward," she said when he had finished. "If we could only find the person or people who stole the guns."

"It'll be hard, but of course we'll try. I was wondering if it wouldn't be worth it to put pictures of the guns in the papers. Both the revolver and the shotgun."

"There's a press conference at 11 a.m.," she said. "Lisa has been overrun by the press lately. Maybe we should tell them about the weapons. What do we really have to lose by telling them there's a co

"You're right," Wallander said. "I'll be there."

She lingered in the doorway. "Then there's the elusive Louise," she said. "Whom no one seems to have seen. There have been a lot of calls but nothing reliable."

"That's strange," Wallander said. "But someone somewhere knows her. We talked about trying Denmark."

"Why not all of Europe?"

"Yes," he agreed. "Why not? But let's start with Denmark and let's do it now, as soon as possible."

"I'm on my way to Lund to go through Lena Norman's flat," she said. "But I'll ask Hansson to do it."

"Not Hansson," Wallander said. "He's still working on finding the cars. There has to be someone else who can do it."

"We're going to need those reinforcements," Höglund said. "Lisa says some people are arriving from Malmö this afternoon."

"We need Svedberg," Wallander said. "That's what it is. We just aren't used to not having him around."

They were silent for a while after this; then she left. Wallander opened the window. It was still warm, and there was only a gentle breeze. The phone rang. It was Ebba. She sounded tired, and Wallander thought how much she had seemed to age during the last few years. Before, she had always helped them keep their spirits up. Now she was often down herself, and sometimes she forgot to pass along their messages. She was due to retire next summer, but no one could bring themselves to think about it.

"There's a call here from an officer called Larsson. He says he's from the police in Valdemarsvik" she told him. "Can you take it? Everyone else is busy."

Larsson spoke with an Östgöta dialect.

"Harry Lundström from Norrköping told us to inform you about anything stolen around Gryt on the day that girl was shot out on Bärnsö Island."

"That's right."

"We may have something that will interest you, stolen from Snäckvarp. The owner can't say exactly when, because he wasn't there when it happened. But it was found in an inlet just south of Snäckvarp. It's a six-metre fibreglass boat with a raised steering platform."

Wallander felt his usual insecurity in discussing boats.

"Is it big enough to take out to Bärnsö?"

"If the wind wasn't too strong it could take you all the way out to Gotland."

Wallander thought for a moment. "Any fingerprints?" he asked.

"We've checked," Larsson said. "There was oil on the steering wheel so we found a couple of good prints there. They're already on their way over to you, via Norrköping. Harry is the one in charge of the whole thing."

"Was there a road near where the boat was found?" Wallander asked.

"The boat was hidden in a mass of reeds. But you can walk to Snäckvarp in about ten minutes and there's a dirt road from there."

"This is important," Wallander said.

"How are things going? Are you closing in on the killer?"

"Yes, but these things take time."

"I never met the girl, but I had a run-in with Edengren a couple of years ago."

"Oh, what happened?"

"Illegal fishing. He was putting nets and eel traps in other people's water."

"Isn't it free fishing out there?"